Book One: Ashes of an Era Long Gone
by Airmage
Summary: The Dark King has plagued the land for a 100 years. The Free Forces are divided. Legends of the past come to light to help the Free Nations, but hope not. War and death will reawaken, more terrible than this land has ever seen. To the resurrection or the destruction of Alagaesia the War will finally end. But this is just the beginning. This is just the Ashes of an Era Long Gone.
1. Prologue

**Here it is folks! My new version of the Shur'tugal Konungr series. I'm planning on making this much darker then the previous one. And yes, I hope to finish this! The problem with the other one is that I feel like I hadn't put much effort into it. It was basically like just writing an essay for school; it was only because I had to do it. I have a lot more heart in this one, and I hope you'll like it as well! Just a little fyi, I've changed up quite a few things and added a few other things as well. I hope I haven't really angered anyone with this new version, of what I've changed. Don't worry EXA fans, it'll still be there!**

**So, enjoy and R&R!**

* * *

Prologue: Fall

A young elf-child, only ten years of age, sat in his chair by his desk, immersed in his studies. The only light came from the Erisdar hanging above him. His grey eyes quickly, but not without missing a single meaning, flew across the elvin runes of the Ancient Language, the Liduen Kvaedhi. A small slender finger turned the page of the book he was reading, a gift from his friends. Magic radiated from his body, as it was with young elf children.

Suddenly, he tensed, sensing something was amiss. His parents were immersed in their study of magic. He, alone, hid himself in his room and began to engage himself with the book left by his dearest friends.

Gently, he closed his book, his ears straining to pick up any noises. A quiet knock came at his door. He gently slid off his chair, and padded quietly and barefoot towards his door. He opened it, and looked up at a man, an odd entity in the forest of elves. He could tell that he was a human Rider whose bond with his dragon gave him a rugged, elvin look. He had brown, nearly black hair, and clear brown eyes. He wore a worn, grey tunic, not at all as nice as the ones he'd seen in Ellesmera. He wore black trousers with them, and his purple Rider's sword hung by his side. His nails were neatly kept, and he could see straps of a pack wrapped around his shoulders.

The Rider held up two fingers against his lips. He quickly mimicked him, remembering his manners, "Atra esterní ono thelduin." He greeted the Rider in a soft, quiet tone.

He shivered, and replied "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." His eyes had widened slightly in surprise.

"Un du evarínya ono varda," he finished, curious as to whom the Rider was. It was rare to find a human Rider in Du Weldenvarden; many preferred the familiar settings of their human cities.

He spoke something in the human tongue, of which he had learned only a few words. He blinked in confusion, and stared at him. Realization dawned on the Rider's face.

"You would not greet me as such if you had known who I was," the Rider explained in his tongue.

"Who are you?" he asked, tensing.

The Rider didn't hesitate "My name is Olwen, and I am one who wishes to right a few of the many wrongs that have plagued Alagaesia."

The elf child stood on the other side of the doorway, perplexed. The confusing, vague lines of his kin had always confused him and he hated how the majority of them insisted on wasteful courtesy. Hearing the Rider speak this way, it made him wonder if all the Riders spoke in the style of the elves. Nothing would be so complex if everyone decided to be straightforward. "Why are you here, Shur'tugal? And where is your skulblaka?"

"My skulblaka, Culhwch, is outside, but fear not young one; I am not here to harm you," The Rider promised him. The elf child relaxed, though only slightly, and stared at the Rider, wondering want he really wanted. "I have a favor to ask of you. May I come in?"

The young elf hesitated. It was true that he had not promised him harm; if he truly meant harm, then he would not have been able to get into Ellesmera at all. Gilderien the Wise would have made sure of that. He stepped aside and allowed the Rider to enter. Olwen gently closed the door, and asked permission to sit in one of his chairs. The child nodded yes, and took a seat on his bed. He studied him intently, and felt his age-old eyes return the gaze.

"What is the favor?" the elf child asked, unable to hold off his curiosity any longer.

Olwen said nothing for several moments, before answering "I must ask you to guard something precious, so that when the time comes, the right persons may receive it."

"I'm only a child," he mused "Why me, why not one of the older elves?"

Olwen smiled, "Because one of a pure heart must guard it. And you may gaze upon it as long as your heart is pure. But once you have tainted it, you can never look upon until you give it to its true owner." With this, he pulled off the large sack on his bag, and opened it, pulling out a simply and crudely made wooden box. He stood up, and knelt before the elf child, handing him the box. The child opened it, and frowned in confusion.

The first crown had golden leaves from a tree he was not familiar with, and had silver stems that were attached to the gold leaves. At the back of the crown, where the stems of the last two leaves met, was a light blue diamond the size of the tip of his thumb. Each leaf had purple etchings which, when he looked closer, were oddly shaped creatures, including a dragon. No leaf had the same animal on it. A few resembled a dwarf, human, Urgal, elf, and a werecat as well. Underneath the first crown was a much slimmer crown of the same style, except the leaves were silver, and the stems gold. Both crowns were laid on top of black velvet.

"Crowns?" he asked, confused.

Olwen nodded "They come from the original land of the humans, where King Palancar had fled from with his people. The history of the crowns is long and kept in the library in Doru Areaba. No one else knows."

Still, the elf child was confused "But why must these crowns be kept hidden?"

Olwen's eyes looked troubled "It is wise to take on the council of a werecat, and it was a werecat who told my dragon and I to go on this mad adventure to secure these. They who can wear these crowns will be the true rulers of the human race. Promise me you will look after them, and then give them to the one whose life you would have saved, and tell that one that he or she and their descendants must guard the crowns until the true heirs rise to take the human thrones."

The elf child closed the lid, and started into the eyes of the Rider "I shall, Shur'tugal," he whispered. Olwen smiled once more at him, and stood up, leaving the him all alone in the room to ponder the meaning of the Rider's words.

Two hundred years later, the elf had given it to a young dwarf maiden whom he had saved from a large company of Urgals. Eager to repay her debt, she eagerly listened to the elf's tale, and promised to have her kin guard them.

Then nearly two hundred and sixty-five years after that the Dragons Riders and their Order fell.

(Page Break)

The rider rode away from the burning city, where roars of dragons and screams of people emitted behind him. In the chaos, he knew that he was safe to leave, but he would not take his time. The wounded man in his arms needed healing, and there was always a risk that someone would see him. Above and ahead of him, two dragons flew quickly, the thunder of their wings masked by the cries of battle behind them.

The body of the man he carried was the body of his brother. He wasn't severely hurt, except for the loss of his eyes, and the rider could heal his other, serious wounds if they stopped for a few minutes; the rider was quite adept at healing. But the rider could not take the risk. The man, his brother, in his arms was important to the fate of Alagaesia, and he could not take any chance of getting caught by a traitor, or by a monster. He kept feeding the horse a part of his energy, so that it could keep on moving until they reached their destination.

"You came back," if it wasn't for his sensitive ears, his brother's words would have been lost in the wind and the echoes of the city from behind.

"You're an idiot," the rider ignored the first question "A complete and utter fool. You know what our masters said! There would be a time for you to fight! And the time is not now you bastard!"

There was a small chuckle. "Who're you calling bastard?" his brother whispered, a hand clutching the rider's tunic. "I can ride a horse."

"I'm not taking a risk," the rider snapped. Why the hell couldn't his brother understand? He was a stupid, immature…little brother of his; the last of his siblings to survive, not including the other traitor.

His brother leaned his head against his shoulder "Everyone was there. I thought that I could at least give them a chance to live."

"You did," the rider muttered, still urging the horse forward with words in the Ancient Language. "And you nearly killed yourself. Did you really think that you could take on Galbatorix so early? Now you're blind!"

His brother was silent "I know it was stupid, but I felt like I had to try."

They rode on in silence for hours, heading southwards towards Dras-Leona. The rider held on tightly to his brother, ignoring the words of his dragon as they echoed in his mind.

_Do not ignore me, my hatchling,_ his dragon growled softly in his mind. He didn't reply, just letting his emotions pour through their link, so that his dragon could understand what he could not put in words.

He felt his brother chuckling against him a few minutes later. "You know, you can confess that you love me."

"I'm not your damn lover," the rider snapped, feeling impatient and tired and weary and worried and scared for his little brother. "Just shut-up, we're almost there."

"Where are we going?"

"To that Grey Folk descendent of yours"

"I thought you hated him."

"I thought I told you to shut the hell up."

And they were silent again, until the sun rose from the sky. The dragons were a long way ahead of them, though he could faintly hear the flapping of their wings. They were halfway to their destination. Not a single person could be seen on the plains of the kingdom.

"I'll never see again," his brother whispered. The rider didn't reply, unsure of how to. His urged the horse to run faster. Soon, at the height of the sun hours later, the vast ruins of Edur Ithindra, home of the man he was looking for, came into view.

The dragons, both of them, landed close to the nearly abandoned Elvin outpost. Just as the rider pulled the horse up, a short, angry woman with curly brown hair and flashing brown eyes (and with a large frying pan in her hand) walked out through the doorway of one of the small houses that surrounded the outpost. The house was, as were the rest of them, in ruins, and looked pitiful next to the tall outpost, whose glory was almost gone.

"You!" she shrieked "You traitor! How dare you come back here! After all those you betrayed!"

Her arm was raised, ready to throw the frying pan, when the rider swiftly got down from his horse, and revealed the broken body of his brother. The horse, for one reason or another fell to the ground, dead. The woman froze; her face in shock.

His brother's dragon, with her brilliant blue scales gleaming in the sunlight, turned to face the woman. There were a few, tense minutes of silence. His brother spoke "Is that our lovely aunt? I haven't seen her," his voice faltered, but he continued "in years."

"Come here," the woman spoke quietly. "Tenga will see to you. And _you_," she glared at the rider as she took his brother and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Stay here until I come back out. I'm not finished with you yet."

The rider nodded, and watched hopelessly as his brother was taken away, dragged by his aunt, a woman who was surprising strong. He let the heavy silence sink in, before turning to the brilliant blue dragon, and saying in the Ancient Language "We let our desires get a hold of us. We found out that what we did was wrong when it was too late. He, and you, saved our lives. For that, we are forever in your debt."

The sapphire dragon did not speak, until '_Your dragon is my mate, and you are the brother of my little one,'_ she spoke softly, gently. Her large nose touched his head, and then she moved her head so that it pressed against his dragon's large, ruby head. _We are family, and as you have seen the error of your ways, I forgive you. But know that treachery in the future will not be taken kindly to. This is your second chance._

He hesitated, though he knew the answer, '_Does my brother forgive us as well?'_

The blue dragon gave a snort of surprise; he never referred to his brother as 'brother' before. _He was never mad at you. He understood. But I must know, are the two of you willing to do anything to cleanse the blood on your hands and claws?_

The rider looked down at his hands, turning them so that he could see his palms. He could see a clear vision of blood appear on them, and slowly drip onto his ground. He hastily shoved them away.

_Anything and everything,_ both he and his dragon responded.

The blue dragon stared at him in the eye. He let her mind probe his; she didn't go in too deep, just enough so that she understood that his intentions were well-aimed. He felt her leave, and in turn examine his dragon's mind as well.

_Very well; I believe you._

(Page break)

Another young elf child wept at the edge of Ellesmera. Her friends and father had perished at Ilirea, now Uru'Baen, and her mother's heart had lost all feeling in it. She wept with her little brother, only a year old, in her arms, under the roots of a large tree, where no elf would find her as they were all mourning the loss of their Könungr.

And underneath the shady leaves of the Elvin forest, a traitor watched her with lifeless eyes. The task to redeem him lay before him; the traitor had lost too much to go back now. He drew his sword, and approached the child, who gasped and stood up to leave. However, her path was blocked by a large, emerald-green dragon, already a mindless beast forced to serve its Rider. The elf child clutched her brother fearfully, and wondered why no one had come.

"Peace, Dröttingu," the traitor whispered, as he approached her. Fear had stopped the young elf's voice. Swallowing his pride as best as he could (it left a bitter taste in his mouth), the traitor knelt before her, and struck his blade deep into the ground. "I'm not here to harm you. But you must help a future king, for a blind king is not well received."

A half an hour later, a large horde of elves approached the unconscious child, whose little brother had held onto her, wailing loudly. The mother of the child, rushed forward, her heart open to the worst.

(Page Break)

The Rider's brother sat on the bed, surrounded by what's left of his family; his parents, his eccentric aunt, his dragon's head that fit into the enormous window, and his aunt's newly adopted werecat named Solembum. Only the rider stood in the doorway.

His father, if the Rider had any right left to call him that, was shaking half-mad with grief. His dragon had died only a few months previous during a major skirmish between the Order and the Forsworn that left the flames underneath the land. The man still had a hard time adjusting.

"We're gathering up a resistance," His mother told his brother "Calling it the Varden."

"The Varden" his aunt mused, stroking her werecat, who purred with contentment.

"Rest well, son," his father mumbled, patting his leg absent-mindedly "We may need you soon enough."

"Until the Varden is strong enough," his mother corrected "We cannot give the resistance hope that you will do everything for them. They must flourish and grow strong themselves. Will you stay with us, Angela?"

Angela, known for her witchcraft, talent in herbs, and wit, shook her head "Maybe, but not for long. You know me; I like to stay where things are interesting."

His mother, Selena, smiled. The three, and four if you include the werecat, gave their farewells, and left the room. Angela walked past the Rider, completely ignoring him. Brom, the man who became his father, stopped and turned to face him. Only after staring into his pain filled eyes for a second did the rider look away.

Brom placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it and walked away without another word. The Rider blinked, not expecting him to be that forgiving. His mother stopped longer for him, and smiled gently at him "Thank-you for coming back to him, to them." She whispered gently into her oldest child's ear. She was about to kiss him on the forehead, before he turned away.

"I have too much blood on my hands," he responded just as softly.

Selena cupped his face and forced him to look at her "Take of him, and Saphira and yourself and Thorn, understood? I don't want the last of my children to…die." Her eyes were filled with tears that threatened to fall. He hugged his mother as tightly as he could and promised her that he would. She left without another word.

Finally, it was just him and his brother in the room. His brother lay quietly on his bed, all wounds healed except for his eyes. He could never see again unless someone magically grew it. His brother didn't have the strength to do so, even with Saphira's energy added to it. Re-growing any body part of a Rider took copious amount of energy, for reasons that have yet to be understood.

The Rider slowly walked over to him, and knelt by his bedside. "Hey," he whispered softly. He removed the emerald gem from his pocket and placed it in his brother's hand.

His brother whistled "That's a lot of energy in this. Where did you get this?"

"I, uh, bumped into our helper, who gave it to me and told me how he got it," his brother opened his mouth to speak, but the Rider cut him off again "Before you talk, there's something Saphira, Thorn and I must do." They had spent the last four hours discussing and preparing for this. He could only hope that all will turn out well.

The Rider stretched his mind out to Saphira and the emerald, and began chanting a spell from a book he so long ago had memorized. His brother began to moan, clutching his eyes. Just as the Rider had finished chanting, his brother grabbed the cloth wrapped around his eyes, and pulled it off. The Rider could see a few drops of blood sliding down his brother's cheeks, and that was all. His brother blinked a few times, before looking up and facing him.

The Rider gasped. His brother's eyes, once upon a time brown like the earth, were now multiple different colored. Other then the black iris in the center, his brother's eyes were a kaleidoscope of red, green and blue, though the blue for some reason out shone the most.

And even though he was shaking with fatigue, the Rider knelt before his younger brother, who stared at him with curious eyes. He took a deep breath, an approval from his dragon, and drew out his iridescent, ruby colored sword; named Edoc'sil, or Unconquerable. He offered the blade to his brother, and began his vows in the Ancient Language.

"I, Murtagh Swiftblade, Son of Morzan, Son of Brom and Selena, give up my sword, Edoc'sil, my life, dedicated to the New Order of Dragon Riders, and my loyalty, whom I swore none would have, to you, my brother, Eragon Shadeslayer, Slayer of the Shade Marzik, Eldest son of Brom, son of Selena, Successor of Lord Vrael, Dragon Rider of Saphira Brightscales, Leader of the New Dragon Riders, and Lord of the new Dragon Rider Order. Until my last dying breath, I will serve you, my Lord, and you, Saphira Brightscales."

Eragon's eyes widened in shock, but before anyone could say a word, Thorn spoke. '_And I Thorn Bloodscales, son of Glaedr, accept you, Lord Eragon Shadeslayer, Son of Brom and Selena, and the Dragon Rider of my mate, Saphira Brightscales, as the Leader of the New Dragon Riders, and the Lord of the new Dragon Rider Order. Until my last dying breath, I will serve you Eragon, brother-of-my-Rider, and you Saphira, my mate._

Together, the red Dragon and Rider said "Accept our services as your vassals." For several moments, no one spoke a word. Murtagh dimly wondered if Eragon would even accept it.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Eragon grabbed the hilt of Edoc'sil, and rested the tip on Murtagh's head. In a surprisingly steady voice, he replied "I, Eragon Shadeslayer, Son of Brom and Selena, Slayer of the Shade Marzik, accept your sword, your life, and your loyalty, Murtagh Swiftblade, Son of Brom and Selena. And I accept your pledges, Thorn Bloodscales and Murtagh Swiftblade, to me."

Here, Saphira joined her voice as well. "As the Successors of Lord Vrael and Umaroth, Leaders of the New Dragon Riders and their Dragons, and Lord and Lead Hunter of the new Dragon Rider Order; we accept your services until your last dying breaths or until our regimes end. We accept your duties as our vassals. We will not taint your name and title as long as you fulfill your duties with honor and respect. Rise as our vassals and Elders of the New Dragon Rider Order."

Murtagh rose, and Eragon rose with him. His younger brother returned his blade by sheathing it in his scabbard, and the two brothers continued to stare at each other, wondering what would change between them, and Alagaesia.

Finally, after long moments of silence, Eragon held out the emerald stone, and asked "Did young Arya give this to you? I could feel her magic."

"No, she didn't. Our brother did."

(Page Break)

When Galbatorix's victory was final, a white raven, gifted by the late elvin king, sat atop of one of the branches of the Menoa tree, and gave out a loud, sharp cry of "Wyrda!" Hearing it, the spirit in the Menoa tree shivered, sending out forbidding feels throughout the forest of elves.

And all throughout the land, those who were still sensitive to the pleas of nature could not help but feel the fear of the land; that though this battle was worse, one even more devastating would approach. And dread seized their hearts, and words of warning were passed down through the generations.


	2. After a hundred years

**Hey guys! New chapter up!**

**Honestly, I'm a little worried about this. I fear you may not like it as much as the other one...but I'll just have to wait a see! Please review because it gives me a lot of feeback and motivation to write this story. I added something extra in this, and I'm...pretty okay about this.**

**And just a little spoiler for the next chapter. For those of who read 'Shur'tugal Konungr', of which this story is a rewrite of, then you should know that Aiden's name has been changed to Adrian! And I shall, or have already, take down the other two stories of the Shur'tugal Konungr series. I don't want to give away spoilers to those who hadn't read these!**

**So please, R&R! I'm a little nervous about this chapter and what you guys will think of this. For a certain action, that something extra I added, I've explained it fully in this chapter. However, if you still don't understand, or if the explanation isn't clear enough, just PM me and I'll try my best to explain it better to you.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

After a hundred years...

Eragon's hands gently waved away the forest mist, which still stubbornly clung onto the lower trunks of the trees, to reveal several prints in the snow. Despite the light snow that began to fall, the prints were fresh, which meant the deer herd was close. He ran silently next to the trail, his eyes searching the forest around him, in case of any unwanted surprises.

There was a slight breeze in the air, and creeks and streams that once flowed from the white-peaks of the mountains stood still in their icy prisons. A few rare, winter birds were undisturbed by his presence as he ran past them. Though it was morning, judging by his internal time, the day was dark from the clouds blocking the sun above. Still, Eragon could see as clearly as he could in sunlight.

Of all the places in the land, the Spine was his favorite. It consisted of several mountains that ran along near the western coast of Alagaesia. High, snow-top mountains, glistening rivers and streams, and the deep, dark, mysterious woods held secrets of the past. It had a feel of being the most ancient place in all of Alagaesia. Its secrets consisted of hidden meadows and valleys, villages of Urgals, werecats, and even a few humans who had lost contact with the outside world. And there were a few other secrets, so ancient and long-lost that even to the oldest elf they would be nothing more than myths and tales or faded memories.

He spotted his prey, a limping doe, as the herd of deer settled themselves into a clearing, which would have been a meadow any other season. The doe was at the outermost edge of the circle. He pulled out his bow and drew an arrow, aiming at the doe. He released. The arrow embedded itself with a slight twang into the deer's heart, killing the deer immediately. The rest of the herd immediately jumped up and ran away.

He walked towards the deer, and knelt next to it, and scraped clean every edible part. He placed them in one bag and took the reminder of the deer and packed it into another bag, so that he may use the parts when needed. After he finished, he heaved the sacks onto his back, grabbed his bow, and headed off towards his home for nearly a century.

It took him an hour of running swiftly to reach it. He was thankfully that he was not out of breath, and every inch of his body was, for the most part, in shape as it was before the Fall.

His home was a large, nearly circular, and a kilometer long in diameter field, with a small house towards one edge. A garden grew behind the house in the spring and summer, and the rest was barren save for a stream that served as a fence between the small garden and the rest of the forest. There was a lake half a mile behind the little grove. A bit of a distance away was a tribe of Urgals whom they managed to befriend. It took a while for the horned beings of Alagaesia to trust them and vice versa, but Eragon was glad that they did. There was so much about the Urgralgra, as they call themselves, which was unknown to the Riders. If they won the war against Galbatorix, then Eragon made a promise that he would add this new information into the trainee curriculum.

After they had gained each other's trust, the Urgal children would come to Eragon, and Murtagh's, house for stories about the Riders and knowledge not generally taught to Urgals. The two Riders even had the privilege of training the very few, and very rare Urgralgra magicians. The children grew quite fond of Murtagh, much to his dismay; they would sometimes follow him like ducklings would their mother duck, and Eragon would deny the fact that he had set them up to it.

When Eragon arrived, two large dragons were resting next to each other, their wings tucked neatly against their sides, though Thorn had his spread across Saphira. Murtagh was, as usual, sitting on the steps of the porch. He rested his chin and wrapped his arms around his left leg while his right was stretched out in front of him. His sword, Edoc'sil, lay on his hips, as always. And his father's sword, Zar'roc, still in its scabbard, was stuck upright a foot or so in front of the porch. Its red hue stood brightly against the pale of the snow.

Zar'roc was given to him by Brom, who last visited their little abode years ago with Selena. His parents had decided to visit and rest after they had just killed Morzan and his dragon. Brom never truly forgave Murtagh and Thorn for betraying the Order, and Eragon knew that giving Murtagh Zar'roc was an act of anger. Selena had immediately chastised Brom for it, but Murtagh insisted that it was fine. Brom added that if Murtagh and Thorn ever wanted to heal fully, they had to come to terms with who had actually turned them against the Riders. Eragon was just glad that by the end of their visit, everyone was still alive.

_Welcome back, little one,_ Saphira greeted warmly, while Thorn gave him a large nod. Eragon smiled as he walked up to his dragon, gently petting her large nose.

_Hello Saphira,_ he smiled "Hello Thorn. Is Terra is out hunting?"

Terra was a wild dragon, and the first-born wild dragon daughter of Saphira and Thorn. She was raised in the Spine, and developed a keen sense of family. It was lucky that she did; most wild dragons were…well wild and swore an allegiance to no one but themselves.

_She should be arriving soon,_ Thorn replied. The ruby dragon's voice was deep, and harsh, with remnants of his and Murtagh's anger still lingering.

Eragon didn't shift his gaze from Saphira, but he asked her, worried '_Has Murtagh been this way all morning?'_

'_He got up once,_' Saphira added '_Thorn said that your mother spoke with him. It is best if you hear what she said from him.'_

_I'll talk with him then_, Eragon walked over to Murtagh. Instinctively, Murtagh brushed off the snow next to him, allowing Eragon to sit shoulder-to-shoulder against his brother.

"Here," Eragon placed the sack of deer meat next to Murtagh's foot "I brought food."

"We have enough to feed an entire village," Murtagh replied shortly, still looking at Zar'roc. "And none of it will spoil. Don't hunt for fun, Eragon."

Eragon mentally sighed, "I don't like killing if I don't have to any more then you do," He said. He rubbed his forehead "But Solembum told us the last time we talked to prepare food enough for a village. A werecat's advice is not to be ignored."

"We need to leave. Do you think you can travel?"

Eragon raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic, but didn't comment on it. "I told you I was fine and ready to help the Varden decades ago. What did Mom say?"

Murtagh snorted "Only that the Varden is in shambles, their confidence wavering by the Council of Elders. King Larkin of Surda refuses to aid the Varden, though his son, Prince Orrin, considers otherwise, and was banished to the Varden. Half the dwarves are for aiding the Varden and the other half are against it." Here, Murtagh hesitated, his eyes flicking quickly towards Eragon, and looking away again.

"And what about the elves," Eragon prompted, dreading what his brother had to say.

Murtagh sighed "Two nights ago, the Free Riders took up battle against only five of the Imperial Riders over Gil'ead. It's obvious to say that the Free Riders lost."

The Free Riders consisted of five Riders and their Dragons, with their loyalties divided. There were three elves and two humans. One human was loyal to the Varden, and the other to the dwarves, only because he was raised by them from a young age. One elf had loyalties to the elves, and the other wanted to remain independent, as a Rider should, but refused to cooperate with the other races, thinking that what a Rider says is for the best. Only Arya and her dragon Firnen, both of whom Eragon was proud of but couldn't contact in case of being discovered, tried to unite all the Riders and Dragons and bring them under a united group. Though the Free Riders remained divided, they did not swear any allegiance to where their loyalties lay in the Ancient Language, and would cooperate together when needed, all due to the efforts of Arya and Firnen.

All of Rider-bond dragons were children of Glaedr, Eragon's old master, and were Thorn's siblings save for Firnen, who was the son of Umaroth, the Dragon of Vrael. The details of how they acquired them were fuzzy in Eragon's mind, but he figured that there would have been more to that then just simple acquiring them when they woke up one morning. Whatever secrets were kept away from his memory had a solid and significant reason for it. Those dragon eggs were given to Brom and Selena when they first visited their sons in the Spine, and were swapped between the Varden and the Elves until they all hatched for Riders.

The Imperial Riders, on the other hand, were strong and united under Galbatorix. Reports ranged from being only five to over fifty, but Eragon figured that they would be somewhere around ten, as Galbatorix wouldn't risk being so easily overpowered. They were the biggest threat after Galbatorix that the Free Nations needed to deal with. If any of the Free Riders died during their latest skirmish with the Imperial Riders, then it would be hard to defeat them, especially since only four of the six eggs Saphira was watching over would hatch for a Rider.

The Imperial Dragons, as they were called, were children of the Forsworn. Eragon did not think that they are mere animals like their parents were, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know how effective the spell cast by all of the dragons pre-Fall was. It could have just banished the Forsworn dragons from being a creature of thought to a dumb animal, or it could have affected the children as well.

"Did any of the Free Riders and Dragons die?" Eragon asked, fearing the worst.

Murtagh shook his head. "No, but Arya and Firnen were taking captive by a shade named Durza, who helped the Imperial Riders. The other Free Riders fled into Du Weldenvarden, where they were immediately kicked out by Islanzadi in her grief. They should be heading towards the Boer Mountains. Islanzadi withdrew aide to the Varden."

His heart skipped a beat, and Eragon cursed. From the state of things, he knew that the Free Nations were doomed. The elves were a major benefactor to the Varden. And unless the Varden won another battle, with the aid of the New Order, as it was decided Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira, Thorn, Terra, and the others would be called, it seemed that the Free Nations were all doomed without the support of others.

But most of all, he was worried about Arya. He kept watching over her of course, and heard about her from his parents. He was proud of who she had become and over the past hundred years or so, had strangely become fond of her in a way he feared would distract them both. "Then we need to leave immediately," Eragon said "First stop is Gil'ead, and then the Varden."

"Carvahall is first" Murtagh countered "Brom and Selena will be visiting Gertrude, a descendent of Sestina and a healer at Carvahall. They'll be acting as her rich aunt and uncle." Sestina was their sister, who, along with her twin Helena, chose to remain as non Riders and pursue their arts in magic. She married a fellow magician, and Helena chose to perform a spell that slowed down her body's aging so that she could watch over her sister's descendents. Helena later died in the Rider war, long after her sister.

Eragon stood up "All the more reason to leave as soon as possible," his mind wandered over the several things they had to do first, and how long Arya and Firnen would be able to endure whatever tortures they were forced to undertake. "We can't let them suffer any more than they already have."

"Of course not" Murtagh agreed, standing up as well, and leaving Zar'roc in the ground. "But it's going to be hard to do. It'll take at least a week and a half or two weeks, if we push through everything and not arouse suspicion from the Empire." In soft tone, one he rarely uses, he added "Eragon, it will take them months to break, you know that."

Eragon didn't reply, instead just turning around and heading into the house.

As Eragon entered the house, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. The house was three stories tall. The ground floor had a kitchen, a small dining room, and a living room with a hearth. The next level served as a study, where a few Compendiums of magic existed, along with journals that Eragon insisted they keep. It also had a large mirror that served their scrying purposes. Finally, the topmost level had their bedrooms. There was also a cellar, for food that they would store. It took Murtagh years to build it, singing the trees into making their homes as the elves did. He had forbidden Eragon from aiding in any way so Eragon could heal faster from his wounds.

There was another reason as well, but no one said it out loud. A lot of anger, hurt and humiliation resided in both Thorn and Murtagh. It seemed that creating something was one of the many things that helped them begin to heal. All around the house were items they made: furniture, pieces of artwork, etc. However, both of them remained a bit moody and reluctant to talk about what they had endured.

_Arya and Firnen will not be so easily defeated, little one. _Saphira told him as he headed towards the cellar to store the meat. _They are strong enough._

_And how much stronger is a _Shade_, Saphira_ Eragon retorted. _And with whoever else Galbatorix sends over. The mad traitor himself could arrive as well. He would do all he can to ferret out the secrets of the Free Nations._

_Galbatorix may have spies in the Varden,_ Saphira told him. As much as he hated to, he had to admit that it was possible. Both his parents had voiced those concerns as well. _Those spies would have told him how the Free Nations are in turmoil. He would not care for ferreting out their secrets. Remember, the Varden have not launched a major attack against the Empire, so he may presume that they are not a huge threat. He will not bother himself with a matter he would consider trivial. He has enough Riders under his control to maintain order in his Empire, and he has no reason to attack the other nations yet. I…do not think he has changed so much over the years._

Eragon hesitated. _I know, I just…I just don't like to see them suffer any longer then they have to._ Saphira said nothing in reply, understanding her Rider's feelings.

It took them a total of two days to get rid of everything that they didn't need, and to pack everything that they did: faster than it would have normally, but longer then Eragon would have liked. The dragons, including Terra, did what they could to help, though it wasn't much. The third day Murtagh disappeared to meet with the Urgal village, to tell them of their leave. He came back only an hour later with Nar Garzhvog, head of the Bolvek Tribe that lived near them, who had four horses with him. A few other Urgralgra arrived with various pieces of material that even Eragon couldn't identify.

"You have been kind to our tribe, oh Riders and Dragons," The large Kull spoke in his deep, grinding voice as he raised his head to bare his throat in the Urgal gesture of respect. "This shelter would be looked after and all those who wander here will be given shelter as long as they are on good terms with the New Order of the Dragon Riders."

"You honor us," Eragon returned the throat gesture. "We thank you for your hospitality, Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek Tribe." The Urgal children kept pestering Murtagh for one reason or another; Eragon smiled at his brother's predicament.

"For giving the Bolvek tribe the knowledge of the land kept hidden from us," Garzhvog continued, "We wish to give you these wild horses as a token of goodwill. They were found in the meadows near one of our western villages, and broken in. May they guide you and serve you well."

The horses given to them were beautiful. One was a dark bay horse, with white hair above its hooves. The other was a black horse with white hair above its hooves. The last two were bay horses. All of them looked strong, young, and sturdy.

"Thank-you, Nar Garzhvog," Eragon bowed deeply to him, rather touched by the offer. "They will be looked after for as long as they live."

Another Urgal, a dam who was Nar Garzhvog's brood mate, Zenariz, approached him. "Flamesword," she greeted "The tribe has brought with them necessities to build you a cart that is sturdy and strong, so you may carry what you need with you while traveling the Empire."

"We are honored, Zenariz," Eragon and Murtagh bowed to her. The rest of the day was spent by helping the Urgals create the cart. It was a simple enough cart, but sturdy as to prevail a significant amount of damage. It consisted of two compartments. The bottom one was concealed by a false floor, and after the two Riders placed a spell that allowed that space to expand yet remain lightweight, everything they didn't want the Empire to find was placed there, from armor to the Compendiums and journals. On top of the false floor went the furniture they could afford to carry with them, but would sell when they got the chance, such as their beds. It was covered with a thick blanket that was tied down securely. They added a seat up front, so the Riders could attach the horses to drive the cart.

Before the Urgals left, Nar Garzhvog promised Eragon the alliance of the Bolvek tribe, should they ever decide to aid the Free Nations. In return, Eragon took a risk that earned him a glare from Murtagh and doubt from the dragons, but it was done with the consent of the entire New Order; they had already talked and argued over the issue long before.

He gave Nar Garzhvog and Zenariz the two wild dragon eggs, the last of the unhatched children of Vervada, and Saphira's siblings.

"I ask a great task from you," Eragon said quietly "I hope that this would be a chance for the Urgals to understand that the New Order of Riders see them as equals with the other races of Alagaesia." Murtagh handed the two dragon eggs to Eragon, who handed them to the astonished Urgals.

"I am entrusting the two of you, with the consent of Saphira and Terra, with these two dragon eggs. Keep them warm until they are hatched, and then feed them, raise them. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, or your kindness. You have shared the knowledge of your culture with us, and we have, in return, shared the knowledge of what we can from the other races of Alagaesia. Now we asked you to raise two dragons."

For a moment, neither of the Urgals said anything. And then, surprisingly enough, Nar Garzhvog angrily asked "What trick is this Rider? Do you wish to put us so far in your debt that we willingly do anything for you? Is this how you return our favor?"

Eragon felt Saphira tense, getting ready for a fight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Murtagh place his hand on the hilt of his sword, but otherwise made no other visible remark to say that he was tense and also ready for battle. Eragon himself, despite the internal panic he had, did not move.

"That is not my intention," he spoke calmly. Then he spoke to the rest of the Bolvek tribe in the Urgal Tongue "It is no trick, but yes, I have motives. One, the Free Riders each has a loyalty to one of the other three Races of Alagaesia, four if you include the New Order. I cannot give the Urgralgra a Rider, but I can give you wild Dragons. Two, this is a time of war, and as much as I hate this, we need more fighters, who the New Order can, for sure, trust. The Urgralgra are a race of physical and familial strength. They are honorable and keep their word once it is given, which I admire. Three, I know that neither of you, Nar Garzhvog and Zenariz, are able to bear children. Dragons are not Urgralgra, and I fear I may burden you with trouble. But please, all I can ask of you is to raise these dragons as best as you can. They understand emotions better than words, but they are smart enough to learn words, though they won't be as fluent. Please, teach them what we've taught your tribe and what you've taught us, and more so if you wish. Take them in as one of your own. And lastly, you are the only tribe to resist the urge to join the Empire. It puts you in grave danger, but not once as your tribe ever betrayed us to the mad King. We trust you."

There were several moments of silence, in which the New Order, which included Terra, waited tensely for the reaction of the Urgralgra.

_That was well said, little one,_ Saphira said proudly as she gently touched her Rider's head.

Eragon felt slightly embarrassed. _I did what I felt was right._

He felt Murtagh's mind brush up against his, and he let his brother in. _I understand why you did this, Eragon, but it's still a risk._

_I know, Murtagh. But a war can't be won without any risks._

Murtagh withdrew his mind without any comment.

Finally, Nar Garzhvog spoke. When he did, his voice trembled and he said in a quiet tone Eragon didn't think possible for Urgals, "Rider," and the rest of the Urgals leaned in to hear his reply. "You have honored my tribe beyond what any being has ever shown toward the Urgralgra. I cannot thank you enough for this. My answer is, Nar Flamesword, the leader, the first king of the New Order of Dragon Riders, yes. My brood mate and I will take these dragons and raise them as our own."

Zenariz added, with tears pouring out of her eyes "This event will be woven into every Namna of the Bolvek Tribe. Songs in your praise will be sung from now until the end of time in our tribe." The other Urgals roared in agreement, as well as the dragons.

Murtagh then gave Garzhvog and Zenariz instructions of how to raise a wild dragon, and the basic necessities of raising a wild dragon.

_I am proud of you little one,_ Saphira told her Rider as Urgal children sang and danced around him. _You have done well. Our masters Oromis and Glaedr would be proud._

Eragon grew red _I did what I thought was necessary and right._

_You…have done much more then that little one._

Later that night, before they went to sleep, Murtagh turned towards Eragon. Eragon couldn't tell what his brother was thinking, but he saw a gleam of pride in his eyes, and for some reason, that made Eragon all the happier. He recalled the days, as dim as they were, when they were young and when Eragon would do anything to please his older brother, whom he rarely saw. Murtagh gave him a brief nod, and turned to bed. Smiling, Eragon fell asleep.

The next morning, Murtagh left to go into the small village just a few miles away from the Spine, where he would buy necessities for the horses and cart. In the meantime, Eragon discussed the plan with the dragons and made several variations to them; in case one failed, the other would make up for it. He checked the house one more time, making sure that the spell that would keep the food fresh for years, if needed, was in place, and that nothing of great import was left behind.

By late evening Murtagh returned, and Eragon took it up as his job to decorate and polish the horses' bridles and other such objects so that they could give off the impression of belonging to nobles. Murtagh would help him occasionally, but for the most part he would just sit outside on the porch and just stare off into space. Eragon worried for him then.

They finalized everything the next day. Murtagh placed the same spell Eragon placed on the cart on the horses' saddlebags. Here, the two Riders added their clothes and the little money they had. They kept their weapons on them; their swords and daggers were attached to their belts. However, Murtagh kept Zar'roc, which was broader then his sword, across his back and a spear that he learned how to use a long time ago across his lap. Eragon has his arrows on his back, and his unstrung bow across his lap.

Unfortunately for them, the four Riders eggs they had with them could go into neither the saddlebags nor the cart, as the spell would severely harm the mind of any living creature. The Rider dragon eggs contained the children of Saphira and Thorn. They divided the eggs so that each of them would be carrying two at a time.

The dawn of the forth day shown upon an empty, abandoned field with a large house in the center and a frozen creek a few feet away. Three large dragons stood proudly in the clearing, their scales gleaming in the rare winter sunlight.

Thorn flew off first, carrying the cart carefully in his talons. He would place it at the foot of Edoc'sil, or as the common people called it, Utgard. From there, after the rest of the party joined, Thorn would go east with the rest of the dragons, so they could stay out of sight until their Riders came. Next, they would go to Gil'ead, and rescue Arya and Firnen, and then head to the Varden.

_I'll see you soon,_ Eragon promised, gently rubbing Saphira's snout.

_Stay out of trouble, little one, _Saphira gently warned her Rider, and pushed her mighty forelegs off the ground, and leapt into the sky, followed by Terra.

Eragon mounted his horse, the dark bay one whom he named Cadoc, and turned towards Murtagh, who mounted the black horse he named Tornac. The two Riders had the bay horses' reins attached to their horses' bridle. "Ready?" Eragon asked his older brother. Murtagh gave a stiff nod. Eragon flicked his reins, and started down the path that led them out of their hundred-year old home.

* * *

**So what do you guys think? R&R!**


	3. What happens at Carvahall

**Hey guys! I think this is my biggest chapter yet!**

**Honestly, I was a little disappointed at number of reviews from the last chapter. Seriously guys, only five? *pouts***

**Anyway, I feel like I should warn you and explain myself a bit.**

**First; if you're homophobic, don't read. And don't flame what I believe, as in don't let me know. Fume in your minds, but not towards me. I believe what I believe, and it shouldn't be a problem unless I'm sacrificing people, or hurting puppies and kittens.**

**Next, I'm pretty sure that the villagers of Carvahall of OOC; at least just a bit. All I'll say is that they're a bit superstitious than how Paolini had made them to be. But fear not my readers! The villagers will be more like themselves in the next book, I promise! I'll explain more as well as I go on.**

**So please, R&R! I'm hoping for more than five reviews this time guys :)**

* * *

Chapter Two: What Happens at Carvahall

Adrian watched as the snowflakes slowly fluttered down onto the steps of the porch. Icicles glistened from the morning sun, hanging precariously from the ceiling of the porch. When the winter wind blew, he shivered and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. He wasn't one for the cold, but he appreciated the beauty that winter brought. He snuck an arm out of his tightly bound cloak and watched delightfully as the snowflakes landed on it. He smiled as he felt the tiny pinpricks of cold and ice land on his palm, and melt away.

"What are you doing?" A voice roughly asked from the door way. Adrian stiffened, and turned to face his older brother.

Roran was a large, bulky man at only eighteen years of age, seven years older than Adrian. He spent the last two winters working at a mill in Theinsford, as well as doing nearly all of the farm work alongside their father. Adrian was usually left alone to do what he wished, and to help when it was demanded while his mother, Marian, was busy with the house chores.

"I-I'm l-looking a-at t-t-the s-snowflakes," Adrian managed carefully, staring intently at his worn boots. Adrian was cursed with poor speech and seizures that came if he ever worked too hard, making him an oddity in the village of Carvahall where fitness of the body allowed one to survive the harsh conditions they lived in. Everyone thought he would die, before he reached ten years. He was already eleven, and becoming a mouth too much to feed for his mother, though Garrow didn't say so. It was no secret in all of Carvahall that only Garrow, his father, loved him. Marian seemed to have given up on him years ago, and Roran saw him more as a chore rather than a younger brother.

"Get back inside," Roran said stiffly "Have the traders arrived yet?"

He nodded.

"We'll be leaving soon enough. Get back inside," Roran repeated as he firmly, but still gently, pulled Adrian inside.

"W-what a-bout father?" Adrian asked, mentally praising himself for not stuttering so badly.

Roran hesitated, but only slightly and said a little too quickly "He's ill. He won't be coming with us."

Adrian knew immediately that it was a lie. He may be poor in strength, but he made up for it in brain. Roran was smart as well, but leaned towards being more brawny then brainy. As a matter of fact, he noticed that everyone in Carvahall seemed that way. He made no comment on Roran's lie and winced when his older brother slammed the door behind them.

The house he and his family lived in was small. The front door led to the living room, where they entertained guests and it held the fireplace. A small door led to the dining and kitchen room. Yet another doorway led into Roran's bedroom, a doorway for the cellar, and a staircase that led to a small landing and his parent's bedroom. Another set of stairs on the landing led to the attic, which Adrian had all to himself. The house was small and simple, and at times it was confining so he left and went outside until Garrow called him back, or his mother and brother yelled at him to come back.

It was the kitchen where he found his mother. Marian just finished packing and looked up when he arrived.

"I sent you to check on whether or not the traders arrived," she said sharply "Have they boy?"

Adrian nodded meekly.

"Good," she said in that same tone "Don't dawdle next time."

Again, he nodded.

"Roran," Marian said in a much softer tone "Pack these into the cart will you?"

"Of course," Roran moved to pick up one of the bundles on the table.

Adrian shuffled off to the side, watching his brother come and go, and his mother helping him.

He wondered why Roran wasn't the big brother he used to be. Once upon a time Roran would have taught Adrian things that he knew. He was kind and caring and stood up to him when others laughed at him. All of that stopped two years ago for some reason, and Adrian lost his brother ever since. The new Roran seemed to be colder and much more distant from him, spending all his time either helping Garrow on the farm or seeing Katrina, his betrothed.

When Marian was waiting for Roran to return and give him another bundle, he timidly asked "M-may I g-go s-s-see-"

"No," The word cut through the air like a dagger. That was the end of that matter, and Adrian didn't ask to go see his father again. He had a bad feeling about this for some reason, but he knew that he couldn't do anything. He knew that his mother could break his legs if he even attempted to go and check up on his father when she said no. He highly doubted that she would, for she never laid such a strong hand on him, but he still feared otherwise.

Besides, it was completely ridiculous for him to think that anything terribly bad could happen to Garrow. His father was a man who could tough act illnesses. The last time he had such a terrible illness that he couldn't move he had to stay in bed all day. But he recovered in two days. So he was fine; why couldn't he stop worrying though?

When Roran came for the last bundle, Marian and Adrian followed him out, with Marian carefully closing the door behind her. She took a seat at the back of the cart, to make sure that none of the items would fall out. Roran took a seat up at the front. Deciding his brother was better company Adrian started to climb the front seat of the carriage, right behind the horses. His foot slipped as he tried to climb on.

Roran caught him, and helped him up. For a moment, Adrian wondered if his older brother was back and eagerly looked at his face. Much to his disappointment however, Roran merely turned away before Adrian was even settled and flicked the reins. They moved forward without another word.

(Norfavrell POV)

He knew when the traders arrived, having heard their loud, rumpus noises and heard the front door slam shut when his father, Byrd the village watchman, went out to greet them. He didn't bother to check and see if his parents would let him out yet. He hadn't been let out in months, so he doubts anything would be new.

He had confessed to his uncle Horst, a man approachable and friendly who listened and helped with anyone's problems, about his attraction to boys over girls. He thought his uncle would help. Instead, he had chosen a wrong time to say it as one of his younger siblings heard about it, and the news spread like wildfire in the village.

No one wanted to be near him. No one wanted to talk to him or touch him. He was treated like a fatal disease until his parents locked him in his room, or really what was once the storage room. They kept him separate from his siblings, feeding him three times a day and letting him use the privy twice a day. Other times, they tried to get the Healer Gertrude to look at him and treat him. Each time she said that there was nothing she could do because it wasn't a disease. Norfavrell wondered if something was fatally wrong with him.

He also wondered if they would sell him to the traders for money. He doubted it, but a nagging feeling told him that something was wrong. His suspicions only proved to be true when the door to his room opened around mid-morning and he saw his mother's face.

His mother Birgit, tall strong and proud, stood in the doorway with a plate of cheese, bread and chicken! in one hand and water in another. Yet instead of seeing the blank façade she kept on whenever she was around him, there was a line of worry drawn all over her face.

He immediately set aside the book he was reading, and swung his feet onto the floor "Mother?" he asked, alarmed. The day when the traders came was usually a day of great joy and happiness. Villagers and traders would exchange goods, troubadours and musicians would perform, and there would be so many foods to choose from! It was heaven on earth for everyone.

"Eat your food," she said stiffly. Hearing his mother's voice for the first time in months did wonders to his ears; he nearly cried. She held out the plate and cup for him, another first in months. Slowly, Norfavrell climbed off his bed, and walked towards her. The day felt like a dream; real yet he wondered how it was possible. Maybe people decided to forgive him?

"Thank-you," he whispered as he took them from her, trying to hold back his tears. He watched as her eyes glossed over but she quickly blinked and they were gone.

"Your father and I decided to let you out to enjoy the sights," her hand reached into her pocket, and brought out a few coins. She walked into his room, making sure not to bump into him, and placed the money on his bed. "This is money for food and drink." Without another word, she left.

Norfavrell sat on his bed, his throat closed and openly, but silently, cried. It seemed like a huge relief as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. He thought that he would never hear his mother's voice talking to him again.

_Wuss! Only girls cry like that!_

_But then again, only girls like boys!_

_You've got the devil in you, Satan._

Taunts of the other village boys echoed in his mind. He pushed them aside and decided to focus on his food.

He hoped things would stay for the better like this.

(Adrian POV)

It was the best day of his life, almost comparable to the times when everyone in his family cared for him. The traders fascinated Adrian as usual, when their colorful tents and beautiful wares. Roran even bought him candy before lunch! However, he left to sell the wares, and Marian left to buy some. But much to his further delight, Marian had left him with some money to enjoy and indulge himself. He pushed aside the nagging feeling in his gut.

He spent the day wandering around the various tents, peering in at the various items. He bought Roran a knife whose blade could conceal itself into the handle, and he bought a pin for his mother. He thought it would match her eyes, which were uncommon with their green color. The pin was made of metal and had small green jade balls running down it. It was simple, and matched his mother's beauty, in his opinion at least.

He wanted to get something for his father, so he decided on a simple amulet the shape and color of a green dragon. The thread was brown. Again, he thought it would go well with his father; Garrow always like the color green for some reason and his hair was brown.

By the time it was mid-afternoon, Adrian had skipped lunch and his stomach was growling. Luckily for him though, he bumped into Norfavrell, his favorite cousin.

His mother Marian was the sister of Byrd, Norfavrell's father. Whenever Adrian got the chance to go to Carvahall, Norfavrell would be his closest and only companion, not counting the random stray dog he managed to befriend. But Adrian didn't mind. He preferred to have one close friend rather than several that he couldn't always trust. Besides, the two had had plenty of fun even without the other children.

He had last heard that Norfavrell was locked up because he liked boys over girls. Adrian didn't know what was wrong with that; after all, you can't force someone to love someone else in the first place. Love just happened, and he didn't understand why people would make such a big deal out of it. He had heard from his father that his aunt liked women instead of men, and yet no one had criticized her. He wondered if the people of Carvahall were just weird and different from the rest of the Empire. After all, Adrian didn't really care about what gender Nori liked when his cousin first told him.

"Nori!" Adrian smiled at his best friend and cousin, who returned it, though Norfavrell looked uneasy. "H-how a-are y-you?"

Norfavrell's smile only widened and he replied "Great actually. I'm happy to finally get out of the house." His voice faltered at the end, and Adrian had that sinking feeling again, as if something terrible was going to happen.

Adrian motioned Norfavrell to follow him, and the two boys weaved through the crowd. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them, their interests caught by the traders. Adrian led his best friend behind Gertrude the Healer's hut, a little building just in front of her house. No one seemed to be in there, so he figured that they would be safe. "I-I th-think s-something's w-wrong," he whispered softly to Nori.

Snow fluttered gently around the boys, as his cousin frowned, deep in thought for a few minutes before he replied slowly "I think so too. But maybe it's just, you know, it's been such a long time since something good happened to us, so we just are so shocked that today seems to turn out to be the best so far."

Adrian nodded, thinking it over. He decided to push it aside for the time being, and held out the package in his hands to Nori.

Carefully, and without a word, Nori opened the package. He touched each item and said "A knife for your brother right? I remember you asking about knives from Uncle Horst. I'm sure you chose a good one. And a…necklace for your father; I don't think that Uncle Garrow would wear one. Then again, he'll like it because it came from you. And you actually bought your mother a hairpin? Aunt Marian doesn't love you though."

"S-she's m-m-y M-Mom," Adrian protested "Sh-she g-gave b-birth t-t-t-to m-me a-an-and –"

"Alright, alright," Nori carefully covered the items up and returned the package to Adrian "Don't overwork yourself," he grinned at Adrian, who returned the smile.

Adrian stiffened as he heard footsteps approaching, crunching softly in the snow. Around the corner of the small hut appeared Lord Brom, as the villagers called him, and the Uncle of Gertrude.

Brom was a very old man, with a nearly-white head and a nearly white beard that almost reached his chest. However, the man walked tall and proud, just like a noble. His clothes were covered with a thick, brown winter cloak, but Adrian could still see Brom's fine brown winter boots and he caught a glimpse of something blue behind his cloak. Brom's eyes seemed to scan over Adrian, as they always had when they met, and there seemed to be an odd light in the man's eyes. It passed quickly though.

"What are your boys doing here?" Brom asked in his usual, gruff voice.

"J-just talking, my Lord," Nori replied, looking down quickly. Adrian stared at the old noble a few moments longer before realizing that he should probably look down as well; and he did.

Brom snorted "I've told you a million times. Just Brom is fine, no need to call me Lord or anything."

"Sorry L-I mean Brom," Nori said. Adrian nodded quickly, hoping that Brom would see it.

Brom grunted. Adrian wondered if he ever smiled, and what Lady Selena ever saw in him. He studied Nori, seeing him for the first time "What's your name boy?"

"Norfavrell," Nori replied in a slightly timid voice.

Brom nodded "A good name. Come, how about you two boys keep me company as we walk around?"

As the trio walked, they chatted. Well, Brom mostly did, telling them stories. Carvahall had no story teller, so Brom coming along and telling stories was a nice change. He would tell stories of what time was like before Galbatorix was king or of the various tales from what he had heard in the castle at Teirm every night at the tavern. He would make some up as well. Adrian went once or twice since he came, and enjoyed each of them.

As the sun touched the horizon, Brom invited them over for dinner. "If it's alright with your folks," he added. Neither Adrian nor Nori said anything, shuffling and looking awkwardly to each other.

"I'll go ask them if you'd like," Brom said gently. "Besides, it's too cold for you boys you walk back home."

Adrian nodded, having nearly lost the feeling in his feet and hands, and Norfavrell answered hesitantly "My father's the village watchman, Byrd. His father is Garrow, although I didn't see Uncle Garrow today, so you should ask his brother Roran or his mother, my Aunt Marian."

Adrian thought he saw Brom's eyes flash when Norfavrell said his father and brother's names, and wondered at that.

"I'll take you to Gertrude's house," he said "And then I'll go ask them. I shouldn't be too long." Brom led them to Gertrude's house, a rather large house built for her when her father allowed her to stay in Carvahall. Gertrude's father was some noble who lived in Teirm. Brom opened the door to a nice, rich smell of foods that Adrian didn't recognize. Warmth seemed to spill through the doorway, and Adrian relished it. He remembered to wipe his wet boots on the door mat, and stepped inside the house. Once Brom closed the door, his wife, the Lady Selena, entered the living room. It was quite similar to Adrian's, though much larger and was more richly furnished.

Lady Selena was dressed in a white, simple silk gown, with a hairnet of pearls holding her brown-and-white hair together. Her brown eyes were warm, and though she was rich, she was a kind person to everyone she met. At least from what he knew of her. "Come in, come in!" she ushered them deeper into the living room. Brom took off his cloak and hung it on the hook by the door. Adrian's eyes widened when he saw a brilliant, aqua blue sheath hanging by his side. He wondered if all nobles had beautiful sheaths like that. Selena offered to take Norfavrell and Adrian's cloak. Remembering what his father said about manners, Adrian refused to give her his.

Selena opened her mouth, which was twitching upwards in a smile, to reply when the door burst open. Four large men including Roran, led by the butcher Sloan, dashed into the room. Sloan pointed at the boys "There they are!"

Brom stood defensively in front of them "This is not your house to barge into!"

"It's not yours either, noble," Sloan snarled.

"It might as well be," Gertrude, the healer, appeared through the doorway that led to the rest of the house. "He is my uncle, and he has more right to speak in my house then you."

"Shut-up you old maid," Sloan snarled. Adrian couldn't see Brom's face, but he saw how the old man's body tensed.

Roran stepped forward and held his hand out to Adrian. "Come on, little brother. Let's go."

Adrian smiled when Roran called him that, and warmth blossomed in his chest. He glanced over at Norfavrell, who looked a sickly shade of white, and remembered the terrible feeling that he had felt before. The feeling now only intensified. "W-why?" Adrian asked, nearly afraid "W-what's g-g-going o-o-n?"

"Shhh," Selena said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder "Go inside, both of you. I'll call you out when it's over."

"You'll do no such thing," Roran said. "Adrian is my brother and I'm taking him home."

Sloan snapped "No you're not! Your brother has been fraternizing with that thing!" Here, he pointed vigorously at Norfavrell. "He's infected too!"

"They're cousins close in age of course they'd be playing together," Roran snapped. Adrian widened his eyes, never seeing his brother so angry before. His face was red, and a thick vein was popping from his neck.

"I'll forbid Katrina from marrying you if you take that infected vermin into your house!" Sloan growled. Roran clenched his fists, but he said nothing, glaring at Sloan.

"You'll not be taking the boys anywhere," Brom said defensively. "They're just boys for crying out loud! How can you even think to harm them?"

A million possibilities ran through Adrian's head, but many of them led to an idea that stuck out in his head. _They were going to kill us!_

Without another word, he grabbed Nori's hand and ran.

(Eragon POV)

When the sun started setting and the snow stopped falling a while back, Eragon knew that something went wrong when the cart stopped in front of him. Murtagh was leading the two horses on the cart while Eragon brought up the rear.

"Someone's coming on horseback," Murtagh said. Eragon drew his horse next to his brother's, stretching his mind out.

He read the rider's, a woman's, thoughts, which were blurry and rather incoherent but he understood her intention well enough. He said sharply to Murtagh "It's Gertrude. Something's happened."

"I'll stay," Murtagh offered "Go, your sense of justice is better than mine." Eragon didn't bother to argue then, flicking his reins to meet his distant niece.

"What happened?" he asked as he approached her. Gertrude leaned over on her horse, and almost fell off if Eragon hadn't been there to catch her. He noticed a large, bleeding wound on her head. "Gertrude!" he cried.

The woman, who looked to be about thirty years of age, turned to face him, her eyes nearly shut. "The villagers…boys…burned and whipped…your parents tried to save them…" her voice grew quieter and quieter until even Eragon was unable to understand what she was saying.

He heard a pair of hooves as Murtagh rode up to him. "Take her," Eragon said "I'll rider ahead and see what I can do."

Murtagh violently threw his spear into the ground, where it stood upright, and got off his horse. Eragon got off as well, and helped him get Gertrude off hers. It was easier said than done. Without another word, trusting Murtagh to keep both of them safe, he got up on his horse and dashed off into Carvahall.

_Little one?_ Saphira's voice was fainter than usual in his mind, but he could still her clearly. Eragon didn't reply, instead showing her images of what happened. He felt her worry.

Eragon didn't responded, for he just saw the village up ahead. He slowed the horse down a bit, so that he could get through the crowd without running over anyone. Once he got to the center, the scene made him angry.

A large crowd gathered around the center, where, from his perch on the horse, Eragon could see a boy tied to a stake, where flames almost reached him, and another kneeling between two posts with his hands tied to each of the posts. The boy at the stake didn't wear a cloak, but the boy between the posts didn't even have a shirt on. A small, mean looking man was whipping the boy. When the whip landed on the back of the boy, Eragon saw the boy on the stake wince. Two men were holding back another young man, around eighteen years of age, who looked torn between helping the boys or leaving it be.

People parted as Eragon approached. Before the whip could land another blow, he shouted "Enough!" Everyone turned to look at him, even the boy being whipped. However, for some reason, the man kept whipping him. Eragon quickly drew his bow and shot the rope that tied one of the boy's wrists to the post. The arm swung free, and the boy gasped, feebly hugging the other post and crying. It was only then that the man looked up.

Eragon stopped his horse Cadoc, and quickly jumped down. He ran towards the boy nearly lit on fire. The boy was coughing fervently now. Mentally thanking that he wore gloves, Eragon tossed aside a few of the burning logs, and then pulled out his knife, working his way quickly to untie the boy. Once he was free, the boy fell limp into Eragon's arms, and the sapphire Rider pulled the boy away from the flames.

The boy kept coughing and Eragon held him upright. "You're alright," he said gently, cupping the boy's face with his hands so that he could face him. "Look at me, boy, you're alright." The boy clutched Eragon's wrists, and made an effort to sit up straight before opening his eyes. The boy gasped, no doubt seeing Eragon's brilliant multicolored, though mostly blue now, eyes. And he went into another coughing fit.

Eragon gently helped the boy up, gave him his cloak to wear, and let the boy lean on him for support. Eragon drew himself upright, and demanded "What is going on?"

The man who was butchering the boy scowled "That's none of your concern stranger."

"Of course not," Eragon said coldly "But it doesn't take a friend or family to help people in danger." He scanned the crowd, and added "Especially if neither family nor friend would help."

"The boy between the posts is gay," the young man being held back told him. The crowd shifting uneasily. "And the boy you're holding is my younger brother, Adrian. I'm Roran Garrowsson."

At the names Eragon nearly flinched and suspicion arose in his mind. He studied Roran first, and saw the similarities between him and Garrow. The same brow, eyes, and cheekbones, even stature.

Eragon then looked down at the boy, Adrian, who looked up at him rather fearfully, with the same wide brown eyes. Roran looked more like Garrow then Adrian, but it was, oddly enough, Adrian who reminded Eragon of a young Garrow more so then Roran. And then there were the names as well.

Garrow, Roran, Adrian: two of them had died because of Galbatorix long ago, and now it seemed that two of them lived because of the traitor, and all of it happened by Garrow's hand. Even the age sequencing was correct, with Garrow being the oldest and Adrian the youngest. Although the first Garrow, Roran, and Adrian triple was much, much closer in age.

"Untie the boy's other wrist," Eragon ordered Roran, "And lead me to the healer's hut."

Roran shook his captors loose, but Sloan stepped in front of him "You touch that boy and I'll cut off your engagement to my daughter."

"My love for your daughter transcends any disease this world has to offer," Roran countered, but Eragon sensed that he was uneasy.

"No, wait. Roran, come here and hold your brother. I'll get the other boy." Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a bulky man running towards the boy, and laying a large blanket on the ground. Without having and skin-to-skin contact, the man lowered the boy onto the blanket and laid another on top of him.

But Roran moved towards him, and then Sloan shouted "You won't get Katrina boy!"

"Father, enough!" A young girl, around sixteen years with copper-colored hair stepped forth. "You may not keep your promise to Roran, but I will. I love him, and I will marry him."

Sloan moved towards Katrina, but Eragon ran to him first. He grabbed the back of the man's collar and slammed him onto the post. He gripped his shirt tightly. "You and your filthy manners," Eragon snarled. Sloan seemed to recognize how angry he was, and flinched. "Not only did you attempt to kill two boys, but you were trying to hit your own daughter. Tell me, did you hit Gertrude as well?"

Without waiting for answer, Eragon tossed him onto the snow-ridden floor. He turned towards the boy lying between the blankets. Eragon gently picked him up, tucking an arm behind the boy's knees and another behind his neck; the man who helped him stood slightly at the edge of the corner, watching him. He ignored the man, and turned towards Adrian. The young boy was refusing to let his brother touch him.

"Adrian, please," Roran nearly begged "Please let me help you."

Adrian shook his head, tears pouring out of his eyes. "Roran, go to your betrothed," Eragon instructed, but gently "I'll take your brother to my cousin's hut. Meet me there later once everything is settled."

Roran looked like he wanted to argue, but Eragon didn't give him a chance "Lead the way," he told Adrian. The boy did so without another word.

Just as they reached a small, yet well kept hut, Eragon's parents joined them. "Eragon!" Selena cried, rushing towards her son. "Thank goodness you're here!"

Brom picked up Adrian, who looked like he was about to collapse any minute now. "Where're Murtagh and Gertrude?"

Eragon replied as they burst into the healing hut "Murtagh's with Gertrude a few miles away from the village. She's severely hurt; I didn't have time to look at it but her head was bleeding a lot. Someone needs to go to Murtagh" He laid the boy on the bed, so that his back was in the air. When he uncovered the clothed, he winced at the whip marks on such a young back. Selena swore; Eragon glanced up at her in surprise, but said nothing.

"I'll find Sloan and kill him," she said fiercely, "And I won't even bother to make it look like an accident."

"The boys now, Sloan later," Brom said. "Adrian's lungs need to clear out. I'll go to Murtagh and tell me where to come." He squeezed Eragon's shoulder, and left.

While Selena tended Adrian, openly using magic to clear the boy's lungs and then putting him to sleep-she laid him on another cot that was there-Eragon tended the boy, whose named he learned, from his mother, was Norfavrell.

"What happened?" Eragon asked as set the boy to sleep and magically made sure to disinfect his wounds; there was only so much he could do without arousing any suspicion.

"There was talk in the village for days to punish Norfavrell," Selena said, taking her place by her son's side. "Brom did all he could to persuade the villagers not to harm the boy. However, Sloan managed to convince the whole village to put the boy to death. He's a bitter, conservative man, but can be persuasive when he wants to be. He managed to convince them to kill Adrian as well." She went on, telling Eragon how she and Brom tried to stop the villagers, even as far as trying to hide them earlier that day. But Sloan brought four others with him, including Roran, and grabbed the boys as they tried to run. Selena and Brom couldn't do much without risking the entire village, (Galbatorix would burn the village if he found out who they had sheltered, whether knowingly or not), and hence they let themselves be hit. They didn't expect to be hit so hard or to wake up tied to chairs, so that was why it took them a while. It was lucky that Gertrude had reached them when she did.

Eragon then told his part of the story as he applied ointments and wrapped Norfavrell's body in bandages. After he finished, he added in a quiet voice, "Mom, did you know that Roran and Adrian are sons of Garrow?"

Selena stared at her hands, tears forming in her eyes, but otherwise her face was blank. "Yes," she said "And I think Brom did too. But knowing your father, he could have made up excuses, saying that it had been a long time since he saw him, and that those names could have been purely coincidental. Oh god, they look so much like him."

Eragon chuckled darkly "Is he aware that everyone in our family seems ill-fated."

Selena looked sharply at her son "Don't speak like that," she said in a soft, stern voice "Please don't. After everything that has happened because of Galbatorix…" her voice trailed off. Eragon wrapped his arms around his mother, and she wept silently into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured "I wasn't thinking, Mom."

Mother and son stayed like that for a few minutes before Selena looked up. She smiled at him, though it was pained. "His farm is ten miles southwest of the village. Someone needs to tell him what happened. It's best if you go, Eragon. None of us will be able to control ourselves."

At times, Eragon hated being the only level-headed and forgiving member of his family. But he gently kissed his mother on the forehead, and "I'll go now then, maybe with Roran." He stood up, and grabbed his cloak from where it lay discarded on the floor. He still had his sword and dagger on him, but he left his bow and arrows behind.

Before he opened the door, Selena called out "And Eragon?"

"Yes Mom?"

"Tell your brother that your father and I still love him, and I wish to see him at least one more time."

Eragon nodded "I will." As he stepped outside and closed the door though, he wondered what _his_ reactions would be when he would see his brother, an ex-member of the Forsworn.

* * *

**Holy mother of plot twists Batman! Haha :P**

**As for Sloan, yeah I don't like him. Or I just needed a character to play such a role and didn't feel like coming up with an OC and then killing him off. I planned quite a few deaths already so...**

**I really hope you guys like this chapter. All the positive reviews make me think that you guys will, but than again, I could just be getting ahead of myself *absently scratches head-that-was-inflated-with-ego***

**Please R&R! :)**


End file.
